


the inherent homoeroticism of (cheating at) bowling

by eddiekissbrak



Series: MOSD universe [2]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Fingering, Come Shot, M/M, Missing Scene, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, but it can be read as a standalone, uhhh this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eddiekissbrak/pseuds/eddiekissbrak
Summary: “Fair? Are you kidding me?” Eddie turns in Richie’s grip so he can give him The Eyebrows full on. “Nothing about that game was fair.”Richie has the decency to look scandalized. “Eddie Kaspbrak, are you accusing me of cheating?”“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”“Maybe I’m just a really good bowler. I tried to warn you about my Wii Sports scores.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: MOSD universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768591
Comments: 14
Kudos: 177





	the inherent homoeroticism of (cheating at) bowling

**Author's Note:**

> *taps mic* it has been 6 Months.
> 
> this is meant to be a missing scene after/during the end of chapter 10 in mosd. basically richie and eddie made some sort of bet, they bowled, richie and eddie left in a hurry.

“Stan’s gonna kill you if he comes back to — Jesus, Rich, you’ve got it backwards — if he comes back to us having sex in front of the — of the — fuck, give it to me.”

“I’m  _ trying _ ,” Richie huffs, grin stretched where his lips are plastered against Eddie’s neck. He drags his open mouth along the length of Eddie’s arched neck, too slow and hot to be anything but absolutely maddening.

“I meant the key card, jackass.” Eddie pulls himself together enough to snatch the plastic rectangle from Richie’s grasp and swipes through the lock which clicks green on the first try. “See? Easy.” Richie isn’t looking, which is why he’s been struggling with it for so long; he’s too busy sucking bruise after bruise onto Eddie’s neck, jaw, collarbone. 

“Mm, what would I do without you.” Richie pulls Eddie’s borrowed sweater to the side and bites into the flesh of his shoulder, making Eddie knock his head back against the door before it goes swinging open and they stumble over each other into the room. 

“You’re going to get us arrested for public indecency.” He shoves Richie away playfully when he attempts to pull Eddie back in by his belt loops. There’s a loud  _ smack _ as the heavy hotel door slams closed; Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “And, like, six noise complaints.”

“We’re going to get those anyway. Probably more than six, too, after I get you screaming with my—”

“I’m leaving. Goodbye!”

Eddie brushes past a laughing Richie, but he doesn’t leave; he clicks the golden lock into place and takes a deep breath, attempting to steady his pounding heartbeat. 

It’s a miracle they made it back to the hotel at all. They  _ should’ve  _ been kicked out of their Uber; the entire trip had been nothing but an eager Richie attempting to slide his hand down the front of Eddie’s jeans, and Eddie near powerless to stop him. At one point, mid-conversation with the star-struck driver ( _ call me Mia, big fan, big big fan, I know all your songs, here let me switch the music, do you sign steering wheels? _ ), Richie dug his fingers into Eddie’s thigh so roughly that he gasped loud enough for Mia to whip her head around in her seat.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yep,” Eddie squeaked, thankful for the cover of night that hid his flushed cheeks. “Just saw you have pink Starburst. My favorite.” 

Richie had snorted, but it was enough to placate the driver. Eddie smacked Richie’s hand away for the rest of the drive. The elevator would’ve been a shitshow as well, but they shared their ride with a bored looking staff member, so Richie managed to behave. Mostly. He’d kept giving Eddie these  _ looks _ , all heat and wanting dancing over the smug smile that hadn’t left his face since the bowling alley. It made Eddie’s heart stutter and rattle in its cage. The minute the metal doors opened, Eddie had grabbed Richie’s wrist and dragged him down the hall — and then allowed himself to be dragged back when he completely missed their room number. 

It wasn’t his fault! He isn’t even supposed to be staying here tonight; in fact, he’s supposed to be in Chicago, filing papers and correcting Julie B’s grammar in her article about Kendrick Lamar. Except, you know, he’d given Pitchfork two fat middle fingers, quit his job, and booked a last-minute flight to Jersey to finish a tour for a project he’s not even getting paid to do anymore, so. So it’s fine, he’s coping, he’s definitely not thinking about how he just threw his entire career away for people he’s known for four months.

(And for himself, too. He knows that at the root of everything he did it  _ for himself,  _ for every time he couldn’t stand up to Elvira and Sonia. Four months may not be long, but it was enough to show him that he didn’t have to live beneath someone’s thumb just because it’s all he’s ever known. His career and his success belonged to him. Even if Sting does manage to rip them away from him, Eddie’s found a home in people who love him without restrictions or fees; he’s found a home with people who force him to look in the mirror and see how brave he truly is. Quitting Pitchfork had been entirely for him. Taking the plane to Jersey, though…  _ that _ was for Shark Puppy. And it was worth it.)

So he’s not supposed to be here, but he  _ is _ here, and he’d been welcomed at the airport like he shouldn’t have left in the first place. No bag, no carry-on (Eddie had vibrated in his seat the whole flight because he didn’t even have his travel fanny pack which meant he’d be going through not one but  _ two _ airports without his travel hand sanitizer which is just plain fucking stupid), no preparation for the rest of tour. He’d even had to borrow a sweater from Richie because his jacket was still hanging in his cubicle and what kind of moron doesn’t wear a jacket in the middle of winter? The moment he’d seen six beaming faces at the baggage claim circle, though, any flecks of anxieties were washed away with the tidal wave force of one singular thought:

_ I’m home. _

“Thought you were leaving,” Richie says, pulling Eddie from his head as he slips long arms around his waist from behind. Warm lips press gently to the back of his neck — the side of his neck — the spot just beneath his jaw that sends a chill down his spine. It’s a mirror from the first (and last) time they’d done this, except Eddie can’t see himself or the way he tilts his head back to make room.

“You want me to?” Richie’s hand is sliding up, up, beneath loose burgundy fabric, until his palm spreads hot over Eddie’s bare chest. God, his  _ hands _ . They’re so big — and for what? To drive Eddie fucking insane? It’s working; Richie’s thumb brushes teasingly against his nipple and Eddie shudders. “I could —  _ ah _ — I could call that Uber back to pick me up.”

Richie grazes his teeth along Eddie’s pulse point. (Can he feel Eddie’s heart thumpingpoundingbeating for him?) “I should’ve known you’d be a sore loser. Running away instead of giving me the prize I earned fair and square.”

“Fair? Are you kidding me?” Eddie turns in Richie’s grip so he can give him The Eyebrows full on. “Nothing about that game was fair.”

Richie has the decency to look scandalized. “Eddie Kaspbrak, are you accusing me of cheating?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Maybe I’m just a really good bowler. I tried to warn you about my Wii Sports scores.” 

“Okay, first of all, there’s no correlation between being good at Wii bowling and being good at actual bowling—”

“I’m just saying I’ve got a lot of wrist strength—” 

“— and second of all, there’s no way you got ‘Granny Roll’ every single turn by luck alone! You rigged it!” 

Richie’s face looks like it’s about to split in half with how hard he’s smiling. “Okay, maybe I rigged it. I’m not confirming anything! But the possibility is definitely there...”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it! I can’t believe you cheated in bowling just so you could —” 

Eddie’s words catch in his throat, and Richie’s grin gets impossibly bigger. “So I could…?”

“Collect your prize,” Eddie finishes lamely, refusing to look Richie in the eyes. That means he’s looking at his mouth, which isn’t any better, but whatever. “Which you don’t even deserve.”

The hand on Eddie’s waist slides down to cup his ass, pull him flush, and Richie licks his lips. “You wanna back out?” 

Eddie stalls. He’s  _ been _ stalling, whether on purpose or not. It’s not because he doesn’t want to — because he does, he really, really, does — it’s just… new. Different. Dirty in a way that makes his cheeks flush pink and his heart rate pick right back up. He’d been the one to come up with it in the first place though, hadn’t he? He knew exactly what he was doing when he whispered into Richie’s ear, when he promised that if he stopped being a dickhead and let Bill go bowling that Eddie would let him — 

“No,” Eddie says, firm, and then gets his hands around Richie’s jaw so he can pull him down for a long, slow, indulgent kiss; one that leaves him a little winded by the time he finally drops back onto his heels. “You may be a cheater, but I play fair. You won, even if you won through fucking illigetimate methods, so.” Eddie untangles himself from Richie’s arms and moves toward the bed, removing his sweater and shirt in one easy movement before he throws the balled up fabric at Richie’s face. “Come get your prize, KingPin.” 

Richie strips in record time, and then strips Eddie just as fast. Eddie would complain that he can take his own clothes off — his hands work just fine, thanks — but he can’t get a word out because Richie keeps kissing him fucking breathless and licking into his mouth like he’s starving for it. He probably is. Eddie is too. Distance might make the heart grow stronger, but it also makes the dicks get harder. Or whatever. 

Eddie’s pants get caught around his knees and Richie takes the opportunity to push him back onto the bed, crawling over him immediately so they can get right back to kissing. 

“Take my jeans off properly,” Eddie huffs, kicking his legs fruitlessly and nearly nailing Richie in the groin with his half-trapped knee.

“Whoa, whoa, watch the merchandise there, Spaghetti. Kinda need those.” He does as Eddie demands, though, because of course he does. He kisses each inch of skin that he exposes, down tight thighs and the side of his kneecap and even just above the delicate round of Eddie’s ankle bone.

“You better not be a foot guy.” Eddie watches Richie’s mouth curl into a smile before he presses another little kiss below the curve of his calf. 

“Nah, just an Eddie guy.” Richie tosses the jeans — somewhere. Eddies’ not looking. He’s burning under Richie’s words, under his fiery green gaze. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna suck your little toesies.” 

“Ugh, get away from them then, you’re freaking me out.”

“God, I like it when you’re bossy.” Richie crawls back up so he’s laid between Eddie’s splayed thighs, fingers dancing across the waistband of the underwear Eddie refuses to admit he spent too much money on. Quality is expensive! “Go on, tell me what to do next.”

“Shut  _ up _ .”

“Ooh, sorry, can’t do that. My mouth didn’t come with an off switch.” Richie takes his underwear off so slowly it’s annoying, but only because Eddie’s really fucking hard and the drag of fabric over his length is, like, killing him. “Try again.”

“God, Richie, just fucking touch me already!” 

Richie smirks. “Now  _ that _ I can do.”

Eddie watches his underwear go flying and starts to complain about how Richie’s throwing his clothes around — he’s only got one outfit, okay, and he doesn’t want his shit to get all wrinkly — but then Richie pushes his legs up so Eddie’s feet lie flat against the shitty hotel comforter and he’s completely exposed. Eddie’s complaint dies on the back of his tongue; he lets out an odd, choked noise. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah. My sentiments exactly.” Richie swallows. He looks fucking awestruck. By Eddie’s asshole. 

Jesus Christ. 

“Stop  _ staring _ .” 

“I can’t, dude. Let me have this, okay? I’ve been dreaming about this for months.” 

“About —” Just fucking say it, Eddie. “About eating me out?”

“ _ Yes _ . I mean, all of it, duh; I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we met, and fucking you just gave me even more jerk-off fuel, but fuck, Eddie.” Richie leans his forehead against the meat of Eddie’s thigh. Is he going to cry? He really looks like he’s going to cry. “Your ass, dude. It’s so fucking perfect.” 

“Stop calling me dude while my dick is three inches from your face. I’m literally naked.” 

“And I’m  _ literally _ dying. Fuck, were you serious? No one’s ever done this to you?” 

Eddie shakes his head. Outside of only fucking around with a few other music students who had the same outlook of work > a sex life as him, he’d kind of thought the idea of some guy tonguing his asshole was just, well... Gross. Unsanitary. But the way Richie talked about it on the phone last month had turned that thought on its head; he might be just as desperate as Richie at this point, if only to find out if it actually feels as good as Richie swears.

Eddie doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Richie makes a desperate noise where his mouth is pressed to Eddie’s thigh and then he’s dipping forward to lick a wide, flat stripe over Eddie’s hole. 

It is, in short, life-changing. 

Though the feeling is definitely a little weird, it’s mostly incredible: hot, wet, and inexplicably dirty. Eddie’s legs fall open a little wider and so does his jaw, which Richie takes as an invitation to lick over his hole again — and again, and again. Slow, tortuous strokes of his tongue, until Eddie lets loose a quiet whine and Richie pulls back to look up at him. 

“Yeah?” His grin is pure evil. Eddie can’t even find it in himself to pretend like Richie doesn’t deserve to feel this proud of himself.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, and when Richie leans back in to swirl his tongue around ridged skin, his head flops back against the sheets with a groan. “Fuck, yeah.” 

Somehow, even with his tongue on Eddie’s ass, Richie manages to look smug about it. 

Eddie’s approval seems to really kick Richie into gear. One of his (big, dumb, beautiful) hands comes to cup around Eddie’s assheek, spreading it so he can get better access to Eddie’s twitching hole. It feels like every muscle in his body is tightened; elastic ready to snap. 

“Eddie, baby,” Richie rasps from between his thighs. His voice is so much deeper now, rumbles out of his chest like something private — just for them. Richie’s full of Voices, but this one might be Eddie’s favorite. When he looks down, Richie’s eyes are dark. Hungry. His thumb brushes over the dampened skin between Eddie’s legs, and then again when he sees how it makes Eddie shiver. “Touch yourself.” 

Well. Okay. Yeah. Eddie can do that. 

He’d already been itching to get a hand around himself, but had been worried about the inevitability of this all ending way too soon. Now, he scrambles to wrap shaking fingers around his cock. It’s heady to be under Richie’s gaze like this, to drag his fingers up his length and spread the wetness that’s collecting at the tip and spread it back down over flushed skin. Then again, it’s always heady to be watched by Richie — and he’s  _ always  _ being watched by Richie. Eddie, despite his best attempts not to, is always looking right back. They’re magnets for each other’s attention, a matching set of _ look at me _ and  _ how could I ever look away. _

Getting a hand on his cock helps Eddie force himself to relax, shoulders to calves, and as he twists his wrist over his length, Richie’s tongue pushes  _ in.  _

“Oh,” Eddie gasps, wrist stuttering. “ _ Oh. _ ” 

Richie’s tongue is velvet soft but electricity hot as he pushes into Eddie’s tight hole, fucking in and eating him out in earnest. It’s  _ so much,  _ all wet and warm and mind-numbingly hot; is Eddie dying? He kind of feels like he’s dying. His chest is heaving, awkward and unsteady breaths panting through parted lips with little breathy moans that he’s too turned on to be embarrassed about. Eddie drops his free hand to thread into Richie’s mess of curls, tugs at thick strands, and then shudders when Richie groans. He pulls again, revels in the way Richie’s noises vibrate against his skin and the way it seems to spur him on, makes him fuck into Eddie’s hole with more vigor. 

“Can you please fucking —” Richie’s finger comes up to join his tongue, effectively cutting Eddie off as it slips into Eddie’s spit-slick hole with ease. Eddie’s hand spasms around his dick. 

“Can I please fucking… what?” He’s grinning again, slowly fucking his finger into Eddie. The picture of self-satisfaction is ruined a little by the way his obnoxious glasses are fogged up, but he still looks fucking hot, and he’s still making Eddie’s spine feel wobbly with the way he pushes his finger too-slow and too-perfect inside him, so. 

“Nothing, nothing, shut — shut up.” Eddie’s eyes flutter closed beneath the angry curve of his eyebrows. 

“No, please, ask away.” Richie leans in and licks around his finger, making Eddie squirm, and then suddenly there’s the blunt push of his middle finger, too. Eddie gasps at the burn — whimpers at the pleasure — groans when Richie starts talking again  _ a la _ Genie from Aladdin  _ a la _ Ed Sullivan. “ _ I’m right here for your very much wish-fulfillment. Thank you. _ ” 

“God, I hate you.” 

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Eddie moans again, loud and sweet, instead of replying properly because the stretch of Richie’s fingers inside him is melting his brain into his knees. Richie curls his fingers then, presses directly against Eddie’s prostate and sends electro-shocks up his spine like a wave of thunder. 

“Oh fuck, there, right there—  _ Richie! _ ” Eddie gasps, eyebrows turning down again. Richie’s not fucking  _ moving. _ His fingers are frozen, brushing so slightly against Eddie’s prostate that the teasing pleasure almost hurts. The shit-eating grin is back, weighted by dark, green-rimmed eyes that prove just how much Richie likes seeing Eddie squirm like this. “Are you kidding me? C’mon,  _ move _ .” 

Richie doesn’t. He drags his fingertips against Eddie’s walls again, but it’s not nearly enough relief to help with the building pressure at the base of his spine. “Tell me what you want, Eds.”

“For you to not call me Eds, first of all,” Eddie gasps. He tries to push down against Richie’s fingers and fuck himself since Richie seems so intent on teasing him, but Richie’s readjusts and lays a strong arm over Eddie’s hips, pinning him against the bed. Frustrated, Eddie groans. “I want…”

“Yeah?”

“I want…” Richie spurs him on by twisting his fingers inside Eddie’s hole— the slightest bit of movement that still makes his ears ring. “I want… I want you to admit you cheated in bowling today.” 

Richie’s laugh echoes off the hotel room walls. The smile on his face is so big and bright it makes Eddie’s heart ache even though Richie’s knuckle deep in his ass. 

“ _ You little genius, you! _ ” The Genie Voice is a little strained through Richie’s smile but it makes Eddie’s eyes roll all the same. “Okay. Fine. You caught me. I cheated at bowling. But really… can you blame me?” Richie’s face goes soft and hungry again as his gaze drops to where he’s started to rock his fingers forward. “I mean… fuck.” 

“Yes, please, that.” Eddie’s chest is too full of feelings and his lungs burn with it; he can’t look at Richie’s lovesick eyes for another second without accidentally saying something stupidly vulnerable _. _ “Fuck me.” 

Richie huffs, half laugh and half tortured sigh. “Eddie Kaspbrak, you will be the death of me.”

But Richie’s not done appreciating the view, apparently; instead of getting up and grabbing the lube so he can fuck Eddie into another dimension, he lowers his head to fuck his tongue between where his fingers spread Eddie’s hole open. He just keeps  _ going,  _ too: opening Eddie with his tongue, his fingers, fucking into him until there’s spit dripping down his skin and soaking the sheets beneath him. It’s disgusting — except it’s not. It’s really, really, really not. 

Eddie’s flushed head to toe, hand gripped around the base of his cock because if he moves it’s over. “Richie,” he whines, digging his heels into the bed so he can rock into Richie’s thrusts. “I’m — shit, I’m gonna—” 

Richie slips in a third finger and Eddie shoots off like a racehorse. His spine feels like it’s cracking in half with how intensely the pleasure bursts through his veins, wraps around his lungs and squeezes so tightly that all Eddie manages to do is whine out Richie’s name pitifully. He barely even fucking touched himself. 

Eventually, after he blinks back the tears that started to accumulate in the corners of his eyes, he can breathe again. Richie’s pulling his fingers out, which makes Eddie go a little dizzy, and then he’s pushing himself up to pull his own flushed dick from where it’s been trapped inside his boxers, which makes Eddie go even dizzier. It’s only the second time seeing Richie’s dick, so Eddie cuts himself some slack for how his mouth starts to water at the mere sight of it: twitching and pink and  _ big _ , even in Richie’s hand. 

“Fuck, Eddie, your fucking ass, I swear to god, I’m gonna write you a song some day. A song about how perfect your ass is. Just — four minutes of me singing about your ass, dude.” Richie’s frantically moving his hand across his cock, wet with pre-come, and the image alone is enough to have Eddie’s spent dick twitching against his stomach. He starts to sit up, reach for Richie’s hand to replace it with his own (even though Richie called him  _ dude  _ again), but Richie just whines and shakes his head.

“Can I come on you? Please, please tell me I can come on you — I get it if you say no but —”

“Yeah, yes, yes you can.” Is Eddie possessed? He’s never liked the idea of someone jizzing all over him, but something about the desperate edge in Richie’s voice and the image of him painting Eddie’s skin is furiously hot, to the point that Eddie pulls up one of his knees to open himself up further. 

Richie’s voice breaks over the words _ Jeez Louise _ and then his wrist is stuttering as ropes of come splatter onto Eddie’s cock, drip down over his hole. It is, factually, one of the hottest moments of Eddie’s young life to date. Spent, Richie lets out a fucked-out groan and then collapses beside Eddie, flushed and satiated. He sighs dramatically, and when Eddie looks over, Richie’s the perfect portrait of contentment.

“Wowza.”

Eddie snorts. “Wowza?”

“Yeah, Eds. Fuckin’ wowza.” Richie turns his head, too, and they look at each other for a moment as they catch their breath. It might be the shitty hotel lighting, but for a moment, Richie looks like a real angel: glowing cheeks, eyes that crinkle in the corners from how big and perfect his smile is, a frosting of light freckles that Eddie’s seriously had dreams about. Angelic. Maybe that’s not the shitty hotel lighting, though; maybe Eddie’s just ass-deep in love. Richie flips onto his side and uses his (clean) hand to brush some of the sweaty hairs off Eddie’s forehead. “Wanna kiss you so bad right now.” 

“Eugh, do  _ not. _ Seriously, I’ll kill you. No, no, don’t —” Richie comes at him with puckered lips and Eddie’s too busy pushing Richie away with both hands to stop the giggles that accompany his shouted denial. “No! Get off me you oaf! Richie!” 

“Just ‘cause my mouth was on your ass—” 

“It’s unsan—”

“—unsanitary, yeah yeah, I’ll go brush my teeth.” Richie still manages to plant a fat one on Eddie’s forehead before he pops up, pulls his boxers back over his dick, and disappears into the bathroom.

Lucky for Eddie there’s a box of tissues on the side table, so he cleans himself up to the best of his ability. He definitely needs a shower, but… he’s kind of hoping for round two. What? It’s been over a month since the best sex of his life; he’s not wasting a night alone with Richie ever again. 

There were other things he’s missed too, of course, not just Richie’s giant cock. He’s missed the steadying, comforting hand on his back just before they all went back on stage for IFBB; he’s missed the way Richie would text him late into the night about entire movie plots and insane theories on why Avril Lavigne is a clone now, actually; he’s missed the way Richie will make up little, stupid songs about whatever he’s doing just to entertain himself (and whoever’s around). Like now, Eddie can hear him singing softly, words muffled around the toothbrush. It makes him grin stupidly soft. Really, he’s just missed Richie, end of sentence. 

The others, too. But… definitely Richie.

“What’re you thinkin’ about, Spaghettiman?” Richie belly flops himself onto the bed, jostling Eddie as he settles himself up against his body again. “How sexy and cool I am? How much you missed me?”

“I’m thinking about how you called me dude while you were jacking off onto me, actually.” 

“Oh, very sexy.” Richie grins, placing his palm over Eddie’s warm chest and just letting it rest there: right over Eddie’s heart. Or, well, a bit to the left of his heart, but the sentiment is there. “What can I say? I was focusing on not spontaneously combusting…  _ dude _ .” 

Eddie rolls his eyes but he closes the little distance between them to kiss Richie anyway. Nothing leading, just kissing to kiss him. Kissing, because if he sits there and stares any longer he’ll end up saying  _ I missed you so much it ached _ or  _ I love you Richie Tozier _ . 

“So was it worth it?” 

“Was what worth it?” Richie’s kissing over a line of bruises he’d sucked onto Eddie’s collarbone earlier, hand already inching down towards Eddie’s dick again. 

“Cheating to win the bet.” 

“Are you kidding? Yeah, most definitely. I’d do it again. Fuck, lets go bowl right now, I’ll hit 300 and bend you over the ball return.” 

“Oh my God. We’re literally never going bowling again,” Eddie lies. Richie bites down sharply over Eddie’s shoulder and he stiffens, groans, before Richie soothes over it with his tongue and a gentle kiss. He pauses, mouth against Eddie’s skin, before he sits up a bit, just enough to catch Eddie’s gaze in the dusty moonlight. 

“Was it worth it?” 

“What? You cheating?”

“No. Coming back. Here, I mean.” Richie chews at his lower lip. Eddie gets the feeling that this is a big ask; one that takes a lot for Richie to spit out in the first place. “Quitting your job and— coming back.” 

Eddie’s eyes flicker over Richie’s, over the splotchy flush that sits on his nose and cheeks. The answer is clear, both in his heart and his head. Yeah, fuck yeah, definitely, I’ve never been happier, I came back for you Richie and it’s the best decision I’ve ever made, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, eyes shining. “Most definitely.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u east, and mickey because i like u  
> epilogue is coming SO SLOWLY but it's over half written now!!! i just don't want it to suck so pls take this for now 🥺
> 
> please talk 2 me @ kissbrak on tumblr


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